If I had a dollar for every time someone said: "You're kinda funny for a girl"… I'd have enough to buy a new oven for the kitchen I belong in!! @_GirlUnfiltered

It all began in a time much different than now. A time about 15-20 minutes ago.

My car desperately needed an oil change. Like, “Okay Miss have you ever heard of treating things properly?” level of desperate. Like, the kind of desperate where even that one mechanic who somehow always manages to eat a PB & J sandwich while changing a tire still has time to look up and give you judgey-mechanic-glances, level of desperate. You get the idea.

So this morning I get my helpless, hungover body out of bed and go to the his-wife-made-that-sandwich-eating mechanic who will make all my wildest dreams come true with this 56 dollar oil change. My older brother promised to pick me up, that was the deal. But then the worst thing imaginable happened.

I call and tell him it’ll take a whole HOUR and that obviously he needs to come get me because what am I? On the f***ing cast of Survivor??? How would I last if I can’t even get a simple oil change when the little sticker tells me to????

My once beloved brother tells me to just wait until it’s done and to “Look around Walmart or something.” I can’t believe my ears. Does he think I’m some kind of peasant? Some kind of nature-forager who can just live without a car and merely a laptop at 20% battery life?? I can’t live off the natural land like that.

After a brief moment of plotting revenge on his life (giving him an even more mediocre Christmas present this year) I begin the journey that will change my life.

People often tell me that I exaggerate things a lot. Probably about 3 million people have told me that. I mean, 5 million people can’t be wrong I guess, but to those 9 million people, I say no. No, I do not exaggerate. I just have a vivid imagination and the ability to keep myself entertained for pathetically long amounts of time. So sue me.

Anyway, I begin to scavenge my way through the Walmart parking lot, looking for signs of life and making friends with the seagulls on this here land. They are my people now.

These seagulls would never abandon me like my own flesh and blood did. Okay the seagulls just flew away but that’s cool, they probably went to go get help. They’ll be back.

I’m walking through the overgrown land as passengers of clearly-recently-oil-changed-cars drive by looking at me with judgemental eyes. Also, it could just be because, as it turns out, I’m walking through a decorative garden in the middle of an intersection.

It also really doesn’t help that in my having rushed to the mechanic early this morning while super hungover, I didn’t exactly try to look my best. And by that I mean, I absolutely look like a homeless person, or maybe just somehow who’s never seen the inside of a shower. There’s mascara on places of my face that don’t even really make sense, and also probably the lingering scent of regret that I feel from eating that hot dog last night. Just kidding Hot Dog, you were great last night

After trying on really hilariously ugly clothes (like come on, who wears this? I look like a knight from the middle ages. And yes I’m barefoot. This is my life now) at a nearby Winners, more like Losers considering what I currently look like… (that was a good joke, I don’t care what people say)

… I then wandered my innocent, lost soul into the nearby McDonald’s.

At first I thought it was a golden-arch looking mirage, but then I remembered that there literally is a McDonald’s in every nook and cranny on this here Earth. You know the guy (James Franco) that cut off his arm ‘cause he was desperately trapped between 2 rocks? Well, I feel like he probably only did that to score some tasty McNuggets ‘cause I guarantee there was probably a McDonald’s within an arm’s reach (pun very intended).

Anyway, this brings us to present time. Here I am in a McDonald’s.

Still waiting.

Abandoned.

Car-less.

Laptop at 15%.

Hungry.

Homelessy-looking.

I look out the window and see two female humans in their natural habitat sitting in the drive-thru. They’re singing to what I assume is a Fetty Wop song, or whatever. The one friend is Snapchatting the driver’s dance moves. I shed a single tear thinking of the innocent people that will have to watch that severely lame Snapchat video for a whole 10 seconds. The dance moves were so “basic” that I rummage through the land here, find some ketchup, and manage to write out“S.O.S” across the table.

Hopefully someone sees this.

I’m sure those seagulls will.

They’re just really busy right now but they’ll be back for me.

I like the workers here at McDonald’s because they don’t judge you. Even when you sit in their restaurant writing up some ridiculous story, laughing at your own jokes, they don’t judge. Even when you get a sugar-free iced coffee so that you can look like you swear you don’t eat McDonald’s ever, they smile at you and kindly say things like: “Can I help the next in line please?”

Full disclosure: I had a Big Mac last night. I just can’t keep that from you guys, from my memoirs. I feel that Michelle, the leader of her clan here at McDonald’s, knows that about me. She has a way of reading people. I’m really just glad I had one big hefty meal within the past 12 hours in case I never see food again because of the whole being recklessly abandoned thing. By the way, it’s now been exactly 1 hour and 23 minutes. That’s 83 minutes. I’m a little ashamed that I used the remaining battery life on my iPhone to calculate what 60 + 23 was. Being abandoned in the wilderness affects your mathematical skills, among other things.

I wonder what life will be like if I ever get to leave this McDonald’s and go back to civilization and car-driving world. Will I get to eat real food again? Will people seek the tales of my survival story?? Will those seagulls keep in touch???

Okay, forget everything that’s been said here. The mechanic just called. Car’s good to go.

Moral of the story, don’t ever get an oil change.

And also, don’t trust seagulls. They’re just about as loyal as older brothers.

I really love watching the Super Bowl, I truly do. But there’s something that bothers me every year, so I feel I need to finally let it out.

Let it out like the air from last year’s ball!!!

Or whatever, I don’t know. Tom Brady?

I don’t think I’m alone in how I feel on this. We all know interruptions are a guaranteed annoying part of any large scale televised event. We all groan when what we’re TRYING to watch is rudely interrupted.

Just when I start to get entertained, BAM!… a bunch of men in tights fill up the screen, selfishly stealing the show. And then they fill up the screen for sometimes even 20 minutes at a time?

This grave problem, that no one seems to openly discuss for some reason, has become so bad that the Super Bowl’s main show is only able to last 30 seconds at a time before it goes back to a bunch of guys fighting for the best concussion*.

30 seconds! Those football players have hours to make great plays. Imagine trying to get a touchdown in 30 seconds?? Not easy.

Or maybe it is.

I like hockey.

But seriously, the people behind the advertisements arguably were also born with a true talent, worked their asses off to make it to the big show, plausibly suffered far fewer concussions*, but who knows, some even might also pat each other on the backside after a good idea comes about!

(*… and yes, I did recently watch the movie Concussion. I am now extremely well versed in neuroscience, the NFL, and have become an even bigger Will Smith fan than his very own family.)

Maybe I wouldn’t have such an issue with the huge amount of air time the “football game” gets during the Super Bowl if it weren’t for a recent unsettling experience.

Around Christmas time I was at the mall shopping for everyone in my life except for myself (I was shopping for myself) and I overheard two of the retail workers talking about football. One of them was describing some form of site or show or I don’t know, I didn’t listen THAT closely, what do you want from me? And the one guy said: “… [this] makes it SO easy to understand football, even women can understand it now.”

He remembered that there was a human female specimen in the store so he quickly said: “…like kids, or anyone really, can now understand it.”

Yes, Gavin (I named him Gavin) women and children have the same brain capacity. We cannot figure out what in God’s name they’re doing with that funny shaped ball!!

Gavin, you foolish, foolish retail t-shirt folder, I do understand football. I understand there will be nachos involved, and that I can get behind.

Anyway, I think the almighty ‘Murrica needs to hear me out on this serious issue and cut back on all the “football” that interrupts the string of 30 second wonders.

Step 1: Put on your Netflix-watching-pants and text 8 of your closest friends saying that you’re having a “Much needed Netflix night” because they care.

Step 2: Watch Making a Murderer.

Step 3: Post about it online aggressively. No social media platform should be forgotten. No MySpace account? Slide a quick DM to Tom and get that activated. Forget posting that you went to the gym today, there’s no time for that!!!

Step 4: Ask everyone you see if they’ve seen it. It’s important to know if the cashier at the No Frills you pretend you don’t go to knows that you have an opinion about something. Don’t get sloppy and forget to say the word “affidavit” in conversation. You didn’t stay up past 1 am Googling legal jargon to not pretend you know what it means.

Step 5: Gasp in agony if no one has watched it because this is the single worst thing that’s ever happened to you and your family.

Step 6: Write a Facebook status about your position regarding the outcome of the trial while completely acknowledging that it is a Netflix show and that your status won’t change anything about anything, except for maybe your respect in the online community. (MySpace Tom will judge.)

Step 7: Sign a petition that makes about as much sense as calling small candies “fun sized*,” because you know everything because you watched a Netflix documentary and studied law since, well, episode 1.

(* Ain’t nothin’ fun about small candy.)

Step 8: I will then murder you all.

Step 9: Congratulations!

Step 10: There you go. There’s a murderer. You made a murderer. You’re amazing. Really going places in life.

I march my beautiful acne-free self into the bathroom to wash my face with face wash that is obviously 100% naturally derived from grapefruits because I am NOT a peasant.

10:05 AM:

I splash my face with enough water to drown a small family given that my face has obviously somehow caught on fire. I truly never have as much fun as I am having right this second, but then I remember I get to eat a hilarious salad later on and I smile even more.

10:15 AM:

I then step over the dangerously large puddle and decide to shave my hairless legs.

11:01 AM:

Naturally 2 of my closest girl friends show up for the leg shaving. Like usual, we quickly max out our credit cards on matching white beautiful gowns and dance a little.

11:20 AM:

We then call our parents for a quick wire transfer of $2000 so we can book a trip down south. Why? Because we shaved our legs. Keep up.

Luckily it’s not my time of the month or else we’d all have to buy new dresses and head right back down south to dance on a beach.

8:00 PM:

After finally settling into our resort and googling how it could possibly still be so sunny outside, I ditch my friends for the handsome beach man that lives under the nearby waterfall. He doesn’t speak, he just laughs and twirls my little body around and around until the hairs on my legs start to grow back. Then he leaves me for the next clean shaven vacation lady that comes around.

12:00 AM:

When I finally get through customs and the long period of questioning given how many sharp razors were in my bag, I hitch a ride back home. At this point, I finally get hungry. The only food I’ve had is the little bit of 100% all natural grapefruit extract face wash that accidentally got in my mouth.